


Thicker Than Blood

by mrstater



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Sansa's brothers are dead…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Blood

Once upon a time, Sansa would have preened for half a day to be the brightest-plumed bird at court, especially for such an occasion as a coronation. When the Bastard King is crowned alongside his aunt and his half-brother, she wears a gown of dull black silk, and a veil of black lace covers her face.  
  
"Sister," says King Jon, brushing his lips lightly to her cheek through the veil before she is seated beside him at the feast. "I had hoped this occasion would bring you joy."  
  
His lips smile, but Sansa sees no joy in his eyes, either. Only bewilderment and the weight of the three-headed dragon that crowns his dark hair.   
  
"I thought it might please a former brother of the Night's Watch to see black today," Sansa replies, attempting levity, but tripping over the words _former_ and _brother_. For so he is, and not only to the men he left behind at the Wall. "A little crow amongst the bright birds of your court."  
  
"I am still partial to Stark white and grey. And hair of flame red."  
  
"Flame? You _are_ a Targaryen."   
  
Sansa tries to make one of the pretty courtly laughs that used to come so easily, but her throat closes around it, and she emits only a strangled sob. On the table, Jon's hand closes around hers, and the warmth of his fingers seeps through her black glove-- _blood of the Dragon_ \--and the mask of ice she wears beneath her veil melts as she feared it would, twin trails of tears coursing down her cheeks.   
  
"The news that you were alive brought me joy," she tells him in tones so low he must lean close to hear her above the clamor of musicians and serving boys and the assembly. "I thought the gods had given me a new life with the brother I had not loved well enough in the old. And then they told me you were not my brother after all. That all my brothers were dead. And so I mourn."  
  
The hand that wielded a Valyrian blade to drive the Others from their realm tightens on her hand, Jon's eyes beckoning hers through the black veil, grey as Longclaw's steel, and as sharp, piercing Sansa to her very heart.   
  
"We may not have the same father," he tells her, in the tones of a Lord Commander, of a King, "but ice flows through my veins alongside dragonfire, and I would sooner stroke my direwolf's soft fur than a dragon's hard scales."  
  
Jon holds her so intensely in his gaze that for a flash Sansa thinks he is talking about her and not Ghost, Daenerys instead of Drogon, and she wonders whether he is aware of it. Then, just as quickly, the thought is forgotten as Jon's fingers draw back her veil from her face so that there is no obstruction to her peering up into his grey eyes.   
  
Her father's eyes.   
  
His mother's eyes.   
  
_Stark eyes._   
  
"I am your brother, Sansa. As surely as I am brother to the men of the Night's Watch."   
  
Sansa dabs at her eyes as she smiles what feels like the first genuine smile that has graced her face since…since Jon _was_ her brother.   
  
"Then as the King's sister, I pray you will excuse me."  
  
"Excuse you?"  
  
He holds her hand as she rises from her seat. "To cast off my mourning, and change into a gown of Stark white and grey and unbind my flame red hair. For my brother lives!"  
  
And she loves him well enough now to make up for all the years when she did not.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Family Tradition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/397111) by [mrstater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater)




End file.
